Thursday, February 07, 2008

Walking along the Thames that day, the wind finding its way along every contour tornadoing every follicle, you let it slip that not everything you think is available for consultation, discussion or criticism, but I, not knowing what the hell you were talking about, interrupted, not altogether before time, I later wrote on a scrap of paper I have since misplaced, and feeling more generous in the field of thought sharing decided, not without at least a slight hesitation, to tell you about that which at the time I considered, as I wouldn’t be seen in or out of the flat without my skin and by this I don’t mean naked, nude or any other such hideous misunderstanding that may pass as a thought between one’s ears, no, I am speaking of, and I’m sure I’m not the first to think of them that way, my cardigans, for which it was imperative, depending on mood, to use as part of a combination of garments that when carefully constructed not only covered and enhanced but completed a crucial, undeniable element that has been compared to a piece of a very delicate and precise personality, yes, the personality that is the cardigan, not only or singularly but as a kind of icing on the cake of stylistic osmosis, running, but not exclusive to, though without which one could not be complete, a sense of wholeness and even holiness to which a prayer towards Cardigan, the place, West Wales, not the wardrobe, a wearer might with a slight but certain nod, acknowledge, particularly when, it being part of the overall, it did, as aforementioned top a certain outfit; cardigans are varied and many, so the selection is not from the few, though cynics may point to the so-called limited range of such knitted knit-wear, but from the many as I have had the great pleasure to collect and wear, warming, complimenting, stating as they do to wearers one and all and of course adding personality to the wearer because as I have come to form relationships with my cardigans I have also come to respect their very own personalities and quirky individualism and as such have learnt much about these individuals, they confiding as friends might one to the other because cardies are people too, although often neglected as members of some snubbed sub-section of society might be, given names, hurtful names that your average hard-working hard-wearing cardy can’t help but take sensitively to heart, feeling the pangs of rejection, and therefore small groups have banded together to form gangs, cardy gangs intent on reaffirming their status without the back-up so called normal society, for they, like many, wish not to be marginalized and locked away in wardrobes and the like only to be brought out for increasingly rare outings, as it is felt deeply within the cardy world that is at threat from the more socially bubbly and popular hoody, which being the anti-social underground sub-cultural stereotyped outer garment popular with youth has become as entrenched as the upper classes using vocabulary like ‘cool’, and we all know this use is not ironic but some pathetic attempt at fitting into a world that, not unlike the early days of jeans replacing trousers, rejects the cardigan in its favour for it is a self-promoting garment, not one to take things lying down, but a party garment , a walker-over-other-garments garment, which being so unlike the cardy I have come to know warrants little mention but there I have mentioned it when I really intended to introduce some of the cardigans I have known such as Man About Town, Study Cardy, The Worker, Patch, The Fisherman, Elbows (poor old Elbows, they’ve worn away), The Gentleman and last but by no means least Mr. Beige, all, I must say, I think of in terms of the term I applied when first mentioning the cardy, skins…